Absit Omen RPG

“So a copycat is a possibility?” The journalist leapt to conclusions. The Minister waved a hand dismissively.

“I thought Musgrave was an outlier. He was public enemy number one?“

“He was.” Edwin confirmed. Nobody else would be desperate or enough of a dick to meddle with the dementors now, not when they were in decline. “Which was why it was so important to bring him in.”

“He still has not been brought to trial. Is that something you want to insure this year?” Josie followed up.

“Certainly.” He gave a firm nod. “That case has been slow to come to trial due to its complexity, but the public has waited long enough. Unfortunately we are tied up by Musgrave not yet being well enough to stand trial according to St Mungo’s.”

“Som?” Edwin echoed, as if contemplating how Quill’s name sounded in this context. “I will consider it,” he shrugged, “put it to her, and see what she feels. We might be able to spare her, and she will be a good ally to you with Pepper.” He trusted Quill implicitly, though he wouldn’t share his worst with her, as she had a moral compass far better calibrated than his own.

“Very well. That will be all, Abbott. Thank you.”

End

The Minister tapped the table between him and Abbott and gave a faint smile to his Senior Undersecretary, which didn’t reach his eyes. He did not wish to prolong this hearing this morning, nor pull fault just yet. The deeper she looked the worse the Ministry could come out looking, after all.

“A problem we can fix in time, I am confident.” Edwin spoke quietly, keeping Niobe Thursby in his peripheral vision. “Thank you Madam Ollivander, enlightening. Much to consider already as your inquiry progresses. Your attention to detail and dedication is appreciated by the Ministry.”

There would be much more of it to come.

End

“The cars.” Edwin smiled knowingly, lacing the fingers of his hands together before him on the desk. “You’re going on a short trip across the pond to inform our policies on them, hosted by Octavius Pepper.”

Edwin had resisted for as long as he could, and Pepper’s explanations and reasoning were beginning to hold water. “I need my best man on it, to give an objective eye. Can’t have people claiming favouritism to an old friend or that he’s done me a deal on the portrait. (Of course he hadn’t, Octavius might be a bit of an eccentric artist, but he wasn’t a fool when it came to the Ministry’s budget for Ministerial portraits!)

“Not for a month or so, mind you. You’re needed here for the inquiry and my never ending calendar, but perhaps when summer comes around and the nights are at their shortest.” Less time for werewolves, less time for vampires to enjoy their mischief. “Better weather, too. Set yourself up with some meetings with their Transport division.” He extended the invitation and suggested itinerary from Pepper’s American company, Blue Silver.

“A regular dose,” Edwin confirmed, “though maybe not as much as you.” He did not have a particularly sweet tooth. “The worst is over,” he confirmed with a firm nod. “With Musgrave off the streets, they’ve dispersed once more to manageable levels.” There were other reasons, unspeakable reasons, which he wasn’t about to share with Josie. Things were finally progressing and getting back to ‘normal’ down on Level Nine, or whatever qualified as normal.

“The public are incredibly resilient against the dementors, and we have had robust plans in place to manage the numbers, of course. We’ve drafted new laws which will go into place with regards to interactions with dementors, too. Prevent this happening in the future, or at least discourage any copycats.” Perish the thought!

“Ohh… maybe two more? He can be a bit of a perfectionist, Pepper.” Edwin sighed, drawing out the oh, and stretching his arms straight over his desk. “He’s not let me take a peek yet, so I’m a little worried he’s decided to do a Bagnold and skimp on clothing.”

Octavius Pepper had leapt to infamy for painting an unauthorised painting of Minister Bagnold in the nude, before displaying it in a Diagon shop window as she passed. More recently he was known for his flying cars, but he was still the most accomplished portrait painter Edwin knew personally. “That, and I think he’s enjoying bending my ear about the car debate.”

Edwin leaned forward to eyeball Brinley Abbott directly.

“Ever been to America, Abbott?”

“Conservative? Keeping the status quo?” Edwin checked her interpretation. “I am open to new ideas, I’m not afraid of them, but they need weighing up for the merit.”

Edwin sipped coffee, his gaze not leaving Josie. He trusted her a little more than most reporters, but only because he thought her naive.

“Change is unsettling for a country, but necessary for progress. One just has to set the pace as leader, and make the right decisions.” He gestured with the cup, “and yes we’re still friends. He’s painting my Ministerial portrait as it happens. Best artist for the job, but you might suppose he wouldn’t speak to me if I chose anyone else over him after so many years.”

Actually, that was the truth.

“Zephyr had enough on her plate with the dementor issues, let’s be reasonable.”

“A week or two?” Edwin repeated, mulling it over. “You know, I’ve been trying to pin down how long it might have been,” he sat back, shoulders pressed into the high-backed chair, running one hand over the other. “I’m sure some of my meetings the past month have dragged on suspiciously long…”

Edwin’s humour was lesser-glimpsed since he had taken office, but with Abbott he could permit the relaxation. “No, I am sure the time distortion would have become apparent to you, Pickler and Holmes in the adjacent office if it had been longer than a few days. Only reassuring fact of this occurrence.” His hands parted and he shrugged.

“Good job the only harm otherwise was Dervish and his fingers, though I understand they have grown back now.”

“… Unless direwolves resurface.”

What a thought… Edwin felt he had just the right amount of chaos in the world to deal with right now, without that adding to it.

Edwin looked from his reliable, sensible Senior Undersecretary, back to Ollivander and the others. He glanced to Niobe Thursby’s quill, wishing Abbott hadn’t brought up that word, as it would quite possibly make the papers…

“Might I caution the panel that this is an inquiry into past failings, rather than a live investigation?” He asked softly, as if distilling wise guidance, though it was more that he didn’t want Ollivander sticking her nose in anywhere more than necessary. The longer this inquiry went on, the more money it cost and the bigger the perceived failings of the Ministry would be.

“You will have all the administrative support Abbott can lend, of course,” he placated, gesturing towards Ollivander with a hand, not that she would see the motion, but it was only natural. “Though let us not lose sight of the focus on the integrity of the werewolf safe house system.” He addressed his final comment to the room with a heavier tone, asserting his status as Minister.

Ollivander began, sketching out the lay of the land and her sources for. Edwin gave her undivided attention, his brown eyes seemingly calm despite the business behind them. His brows and jowls threw shadow on his features to bestow suitably formal expression.

“Minister,” the respected lady addressed him, “by our count, there are approximately four thousand known werewolves in Britain and Ireland.” He kept his expression as neutral as one could, though his eyes momentarily sent their gaze upwards to check the figure against the one held in his memory. “This includes … those known to be unregistered… estimated three hundred…” His lips pressed into a line at the suggestion of unregistered werewolves numbering larger than the estimations he had received on taking office.

“Questions so far?”

“The estimate of unregistered werewolves,” Edwin posed, “eighty-percent reliable, too?” He doubted it was anywhere near as reliable, given the need to extrapolate the data. The inquiry would need to be able to suggest worse case and best case scenarios to get a true picture - as was the purpose of it. However, in terms of saving face the Ministry didn’t want the unregistered figure to be reported as too high, as it looked terrible. Not unless they could report it had been rapidly reduced soon after!

Josie Flint was less of a sparkling wine, more a bottle of fizzy muggle pop. She bounced down his hallway like she was one of his young relatives on a visit. He trailed her a few paces behind, wand in hand, and saw her gaze sweep round the ground floor of his house.

“Oh, I got you a present, to say thanks, like.” The witch dug into her bag which she unceremoniously threw down on his sofa. A moment later she offered up a crinkled packet of extra strong coffee.

“Like blow your head off strong stuff. Great for those all night meetings!” Edwin was strangely charmed with the thought, given his expectations for a surprise gift had been rock bottom from Flint.

“Ah, thank you,” Edwin managed politely, receiving the packet. He gave it a good look, as only polite. “I’ve put some on already but I’ll be sure to give it a go next week. Has to be better than matchsticks.” He gave her a tired smile and gestured to the low sofas. “Take a seat, I’ll only be a moment.”

Some minutes later, Edwin had recounted updated answers to the ones Josie had begun with last time.
“Still here, yes, still alone. Where did you want to begin? With the dementors? Flying cars? Or highlights of my first year in office?”

“Minister.”
“Abbott.” Edwin shared the smile. He had missed the office for the week, there was no doubt about it. Silly though, considering it was just a room, and only his while appointed. It had belonged to many others before him, the bold and the bad. He shuffled his shoulders against his chair, which he had perhaps missed most of all.

“Sounds reasonable.” Edwin agreed to the plans to search his office regularly. He trusted Brinley to appoint the correct people for such a job. It would be an invasion of his privacy but he had his home for anything he felt truly that way about. Work invariably followed him home.

“Any progress on investigating the origin of it?” Every sitting Minister had plenty of enemies by virtue of the job, but Edwin was keen to identify who might be actively working against him. He would much prefer them rounded up and in cells than allowed to keep acting against him. Was it werewolf activists, dementor enthusiasts, anti-Ministry or those against the Statute? Or perhaps a jealous ex…

“And did you find anything else?”

Ten to ten, mid morning.

Much of Edwin’s office looked as it had before, but he was rather enjoying his new desk. It was broader than the last, which gave him that bit of extra elbow room and space to spread out the regular documents he was given to review. The carpet was still as thick as ever, absorbing sound and suppressing echoes. It kept his office rather quiet, once the double doors were closed, much quieter than it had formerly been. The grandfather clock had not yet returned from the Department of Mysteries, but would be ready in a matter of days.

When it had malfunctioned earlier in the month, nobody had expected attempting to fix it would result in severed fingers. The discovery of a temporal tamper had delighted Francis Pepper, the unspeakable summoned to examine it after the fingers incident. Edwin trusted Pepper, he was a good man, and not mischievous like his brother. Octavius Pepper had just spent the last hour staring at Edwin at regular intervals, painting his portrait.

Apparently the clock had become severely damaged, but that was nothing in comparison to the news that the tamper had been placed there to mess with Edwin directly. When you wished time might fly during a boring meeting, you wanted control over it, not that someone would influence it at seemingly random. It explained some jumps in time in the week before, which Edwin had put down to his own misperception. Owing to the secrecy behind the whole clock incident, he had not been able to discuss it specifically with Octavius, but had asked some questions about the artist’s own temporal incident which had caused him to live twenty years of his life in parallel, in America.

The Minister took a moment alone to survey his refitted office, now free of any potential bugs or magical interference, and stretch his legs under the desk. It didn’t last long, with a prompt knock at the double doors which opened to reveal his expected guest.

Three minutes to six, evening

It had been a warm couple of days in England. The temperature had reached levels of early summer, and spring was establishing herself well. Edwin had seen precious little of it, save through enchanted windows of the London offices of the Ministry of Magic. It seemed almost backward for the fire in the grate to flare up that evening, but it was only to announce the last minute arrival of the owner.

Edwin stepped out and stood straight, giving his robes a shake. There was still daylight coming through the floor to ceiling windows to his left, which overlooked the garden. That was full of shrubbery, patio and a long sloping lawn which led to a quiet place to apparate, out of sight of any Muggle neighbour. Everything was as he had left it that morning, apart from the plates had washed themselves in the sink ahead of him. Otherwise the newspapers were still loosely piled on the coffee table between the two low sofas, and piles of reading were still on the dining table between him and the windows.

Satisfied nothing had been noticeably disturbed, Edwin slipped his hand into the pocket of his suit robes, fishing out his pocketwatch. It not only told the time but notified him of appointments and warnings through elaborate dials. On this occasion it just confirmed it was two minutes to six, far later than he had hoped to slip home, but still a lot earlier than he had for several days. His visitor[1] would be on the doorstep any moment, if not already.

He drew his walnut wand in his other hand, and flicked it precisely at the kitchen. Cupboard doors slid open, assembling coffee pot, coffee mugs, and with another swish the kettle lifted itself into the sink, filled with water and then landed on the stove. Hearing the noise of feet on the gravel outside the front of the house, he walked swiftly into the hallway and approached the front door, only stopping to check his appearance in the mirror. He swept a lock of his thinning hair back over, pulled a surprised face at himself to ease the habitual frown he wore, and reached for the door.

“Ms Flint, your punctuality is most appreciated, do come in.”

1.	26th March, Snail Mail

Edwin Glass
Minister for Magic
Ministry of Magic, London

The letter bears the Minister’s seal and will not open until touched by the fingers of a named recipient.



Ms Flint,

I recall our interview. I can spare you half an hour this evening, six o’clock, at the same address.

Regards,


Edwin Glass

Minister for Magic